When he finally eases back, I’m breathless. “What?” I manage, dazed by his clean, soapy scent and the heat rolling off his body.
He grins. “So much for kissing the answer out of you.”
“There was a question?”
“The question,” he says, tucking a stray lock under my hat, “Was whether you’re going to tell me where you’re going.”
“Christmas shopping is all you need to know,” I tease, poking his stomach.
His smile fades, replaced with a seriousness that tugs at something deep inside me. “I don’t want you out on those roads after dark. Not because of me.”
I roll my eyes, but inside, my chest tightens. The truth is, I’m chasing down a gift, one, I hope that will mean a lot to him. After a loud, chaotic Christmas dinner, I want nothing more than a quiet Christmas night with Penn right here—in this room—before he has to return to Boston. My stomach knots at the thought, because I don’t just want stolen nights with him. I want to go back with him. Not as a friend. Not as the team’s PR manager.
As his.
“Why do you always think everything’s about you, Penn?” I shoot back as I roll my eyes. “Such a narcissist.” I pause and crinkle my nose. “Wait, do narcissists think everything is about them?”
“Probably.”
“Okay then. That explains Dylan.” I get a foul taste in my mouth just saying his name.
“Why are you thinking about Dylan?”
“I’m not.”
His head tilts, his eyes scanning my face like he wants to ask something but then a slow smile breaks out. “You’re coming back tonight though, right?” His gaze drops to the bed, his voice roughening. “Because I’m going to need you here. Naked. Between the sheets.” His hand skims down my body, slides between my thighs. “And my mouth right here.”
A sharp shiver wracks me. God, it’s insane. The more I have this man, the more I crave him.
A door slams down the hall, yanking me back to reality. Dylan. Sloane. Their room is across the hall are a constant reminder that this cozy inn isn’t our private haven anymore. And Dylan—of course—swears he booked his stay here ages ago. A few nights with his family and then a romantic Christmas getaway with his fiancée. I don’t know if it’s true, but I do know that last night at dinner—which he managed to weasel himself into having with us—he was far too flirty with me.
Surely to God, Sloane wasn’t right about him wanting me back.
Penn stiffens and as if he’s reading my mind he says, “Surprised he didn’t weasel an invite to your parents’ place to watch the game tonight.”
“Yeah, me too.” My mind flickers to Sloane. She seems so out of place, maybe even lonely. Behind all her glossy posts and polished smiles, there’s a real person with real cracks in her armor. I know the feeling. Things aren’t always what they look like. And I’m the biggest proof of that.
Should I invite her to go to Rutledge with me? I consider it a moment longer, then change my mind. Last night after dinner wrapped up, she said she wasn’t feeling well. While I actually like her now that I’ve glimpsed behind the curtain so to speak, she’s quite sweet and…vulnerable. I really shouldn’t have judged so harshly based on her social media. I honestly know better than that, and feel pretty awful about it. But it’s probably best that I don’t get involved deeper at this point. Especially after what she said, and I wouldn’t put it past Dylan to use her against me somehow so he could weasel his way back into playing Santa. I can’t believe how manipulative the man is.
What am I even saying?
Of course, I believe it.
Dylan thrives on the limelight. I’m just grateful Penn shut him down, and now I get to look forward to sharing the float with Penn. A laugh bubbles in my chest. Crazy to think when I first saw him trying to check in at Snowberry Inn, I lumped him in with Dylan. Wrong. So wrong. Penn is every kind of different—every kind of better.
He moves to the window, pulling back the curtains. “Checked the weather. No snow in the forecast.”
My heart wobbles at the simple thoughtfulness, and I can’t stop staring at the way his shoulders shift as he scoops up my mittens and carries them to me. That’s when it hits me.
“Wait. Where did the creepy elf go?”
Penn bites his lip, like he’s holding back a grin. Mischief dances in his eyes.
“What did you do?” I march to the closet, yank the door open. No elf. Spinning on him, I narrow my eyes. “Penn?”
He whistles. Innocent. Too innocent.
“Oh my God, you did. How?”